


these, our bodies, possessed by light

by Macremae



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, And they were roommates...., Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghost Drifting, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018) Compliant, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Tattoos, Touch-Starved, Trans Newton Geiszler, socialbreachfest2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: Newt’s mouth dropped open, but before he could blurt out whatever was about to drop into his mind, Hermann held up a hand. “No, no, do not get overly excited, I am interested in discretion and tastefulness, which is why I hesitated to come toyou. Nothing is set in stone. I simply thought, well…” he paused, taking another sip of his tea as an excuse to look away, “you’re right. We did defeat the Kaiju, and there’s a great deal of time left for the both of us.”Gathering all the tact he possessed, Newt said carefully, “So… ergo tattoo?”Hermann gave him the tiniest of shrugs. “I willingly went into the mind of not only a bloody alien race, butyou. I think I’ve passed the threshold for foolhardy decisions.”Five tattoos Newt suggested that Hermann didn't like, and the one that Hermann chose.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 11
Kudos: 116
Collections: Social Breachfest 2020- Collected Fics





	these, our bodies, possessed by light

**Author's Note:**

> happy socialbreachfest2020! it's day one and i'm loving all the good good content so far; many thanks to charles and mary for helping with the deets of this one. for the german parts in italics, you can hover over them with your cursor for translations

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_One_

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If the end of the war was formerly assumed to be the end of everything, then falling back into normal could, technically, squeeze itself in uncomfortably under that moniker.

Newt drank tea now, on the occasion, which was a fact about himself that hadn’t been present pre-Drifting with first the Kaiju brain, and then with another one as well as Hermann. He was fairly certain it had come from the latter party (Hermann, not the brain), and while this did open up a new avenue of drinks he enjoyed that didn’t contain caffeine (beneficial), it posed a series of fairly intense questions that, depending on how hard he thought about them at any given moment, could range from the profound to the profoundly distressing.

He also did yoga every so often, but this was more so to relieve a buildup of muscular white-knuckling from twelve years spent fighting aliens, and five convinced they were probably going to die, than any ghost Drift from Hermann’s leg. Newt preferred to be proactive about the whole affair, and it also gave him an excuse to wear comfortable pants. Hermann did his stretches in the morning before showering, and remained mostly in tweed.

That, Newt considered over a breakfast that, this time, did involve coffee, really summed up the dichotomy of their personalities to a “t”. Another example: he had successfully found the perfect temperature for frying an egg in their one frying pan over the stove that was finicky at best, and had added it to his toast along with several spoonfuls of salsa and a dash of hot sauce. Hermann took his plain and dry, _but_ was currently, Newt noticed, stirring one more spoonful of sugar into his tea than usual. Apparently, peacetime allowed for frivolities in his book.

The living situation had happened startlingly naturally, and went something like this: Newt got an email from MIT practically begging him to take up teaching again. Hermann received one as well, and after postulating for a solid ten minutes on the benefits of continuing their joint research at the same university, Newt had simply said, “Dude, we’re sleeping together,” backtracked from the poor choice of words, and opened up his laptop to begin apartment hunting as a way to change the subject. They lived a few minutes walk from the Boston Aquarium, as per Newt’s insistence on getting a membership and putting it to use, and the women who owned the cafe next door to their apartment complex pressed a scone or croissant on Hermann practically every other day once they saw how many layers he wore (Newt always received half without even having to ask. Sometimes the ghost Drift had benefits). 

They taught biology and physics and did a joint lecture once a semester on whatever either of their War-related hyperfixations were at the moment, and went to therapy on Tuesdays (Newt) and Thursdays (Hermann), and argued about putting together IKEA furniture before realizing they could afford more lasting options, and Newt shelled out for a subscription to NYT Cooking after Hermann’s praise of his black bean bake had made his heart do somersaults. It was ridiculously, unimaginably domestic. Newt was a little wary of how much he enjoyed it.

The night before, Newt had rolled over in bed after being woken silently by a nightmare, accepting Hermann’s arms moving to pull him closer without a second thought, and wondered if this was normal for two non-romantically involved colleagues sharing an apartment. He decided it was, because most of them hadn’t soul-melded together after being the last line of defense for humanity in a cramped lab for five years, and thus didn’t really rank as high on the codependency charts. Not that Newt _minded_ , of course. Hermann ran cold in the night. He needed Newt’s compact, malleable body heat, like an electric blanket with opinions. 

“Hey Hermann,” Newt said, carefully holding his toast to avoid getting egg yolk on his arm with one hand and keeping their pinkies linked with the other (they would have to wait until their lunch break to see each other again, and so both had decided it was best to get in as much contact as possible before heading to their respective departments. Newt failed to see any logical fallacies in this arrangement). Hermann looked up from reading the morning paper on his tablet, adjusting his glasses. They were still round and owlish, and every time he wore them Newt was filled with the urge to do something ridiculous, like kick the dishwasher or swoon.

Hermann gave him a slow, cat-like blink that meant he was listening. “Here’s a thought,” Newt said, then paused, licked a drop of yolk that had fallen onto his palm (Hermann winced), then continued, “I should get my cartilage pierced.”

“I assume then this time you’re not going to let it get infected?” Hermann said dryly, tapping his spoon on the rim of his mug and setting it on a napkin. Newt stuck out his tongue in reply.

“I’m not seventeen anymore, so yeah, ideally. Got the time to take care of it while it heals now.” He frowned slightly, the words sinking in. “Shit. That’s a thought.”

Hermann cleared his throat delicately and Newt looked up. “Yes, actually. Well,” he said. “I’ve also been thinking about that.”

Newt raised an eyebrow. “In what way? You wanna dye your hair permanent blue or something?”

Hermann nearly spat out the sip of tea he had just taken. “Iーno, no, good heavens, no,” he sputtered, coughing. “Christ, Newton. No, Iーahー” His face reddened slightly. “I was considering, perhaps. You know. Entertaining the idea of something more in your expertise.”

“Actually, I dyed my hair a ton back in college,” Newt said. Hermann sniffed. 

“Your ‘college’ lasted over a decade,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Hey now. Mostly as a teacher.”

“While obtaining more and more ludicrous degreesー”

“That _saved the world_.”

“Newton,” Hermann said waspishly, “I refuse to believe that your degree in cultural anthropology pertaining to ‘cryptids through the ages’ had quite literally anything to do with us defeating the Kaiju. I cannot and will not.”

“Not with that attitude,” Newt replied, not bothering to hide his grin. “But okay. You were saying something about a bod mod?”

Hermann rolled his eyes. “Let’s not use that term, but yes.”

“And you’re coming to me,” he noted. “Okay. You wanna get your ears pierced?”

Hermann gave him a familiar look that said, “Newton, please do not make me voice this aloud, as it will surely ruin my carefully crafted image of Someone Who Hates Fun”. Newt smirked and gave him a nod, indicating that Hermann was just going to have to suck it up and speak. He sighed.

“No, Newton, and you know very well what I mean.”

“No I don’t,” Newt said, grinning. “I’m not peeking. What’s on your mind, Herms?”

Hermann’s mouth flattened, and he glanced upwards in a millisecond-long prayer. “Oh fine. I am… you know. Amicable to the idea of a tattoo.”

Newt’s mouth dropped open, but before he could blurt out whatever was about to drop into his mind, Hermann held up a hand. “No, no, do not get overly excited, I am interested in discretion and tastefulness, which is why I hesitated to come to _you_. Nothing is set in stone. I simply thought, well…” he paused, taking another sip of his tea as an excuse to look away, “you’re right. We did defeat the Kaiju, and there’s a great deal of time left for the both of us.”

Gathering all the tact he possessed, Newt said carefully, “So… ergo tattoo?”

Hermann gave him the tiniest of shrugs. “I willingly went into the mind of not only a bloody alien race, but _you_. I think I’ve passed the threshold for foolhardy decisions.”

“Hey now,” said Newt, pointing a finger at him mock-accusingly, “you can’t make sweeping generalizations about every tattoo on the face of the planet ever, dude. I’m not enough data to make that model even in the vicinity of Normal.”

“Then I believe it says quite a bit that you are the only person in academia I’ve encountered who has any,” Hermann shot back. Newt shook his head.

“Nah. Firstly, your circles hate anything cool on principleー”

“That is emphatically untrue.”

“ーand _secondly_ , they probably just didn’t have anything visible, what with showing your ankle being a cause for tenure loss.” He winked. “Scandalous. So what’s your concept?”

Hermann frowned. “Concept?” he echoed. Newt nodded.

“Yeah, like what were you thinking of getting? And what style? There are a bunch of different ones, and it affects the design you get depending on who you go to, and what they specialize in. And do you want it black and white, or color, orー?”

“I haven’t even planned out anything,” Hermann said, putting down his mug and flapping his free hand at Newt. “And nothing garish or large, obviously.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Newt said mockingly. “Hey, it’s your tat, dude. The details are yours. But,” he said, leaning closer across the table, “I know you wouldn’t bring this up if you didn’t at least have some idea.”

Hermann shook his head. “Oh, I don’t know. Important to me, obviously, but other than that, well. I suppose that’s why I asked you.”

Newt nodded. “Okay, okay. Hm.” He thought for a moment; what kind of thing would be meaningful enough in Hermann’s mind to get permanently inked on his body? Maybe something math-y? But aesthetically pleasing; this was a visual medium, after all. He ran through the list of mathematical concepts he remembered, and any he had gleaned from Hermann. Like a flash, it came to him. “Oh! Oh what about that spiral; the golden spiral? Fibonacci?”

Hermann considered this. “Well, a Fibonacci is slightly different in construction, actually; it begins with a partitioned rectangle. But it certainly is a pleasing image.” He thought a moment more, then made a sound of rejection. “I don’t think it’s important enough to have on me for the rest of my life, though. Perhaps something more,” he flushed at this, “sentimental. If you’ll mind it.”

Newt snickered. “Dude, most tattoos are. But that’s cool; like you said, we have all the time we need to pick something out.”

Hermann took a bite of his toast and chewed thoughtfully, clearly already running through ideas. “Yes,” he said after swallowing, “although, you know. Obviously I value your suggestion, or I wouldn’t have asked.”

Newt’s heart did that funny little flip again. “Oh, yーyeah. Of course, dude. Top priority.” He quickly dropped his own toast and took a large gulp of coffee, ignoring the way it burned his tongue just as much as the touch of Hermann’s pinky suddenly did. He didn’t pull away, though. That would insinuate there was anything to it other than a post-Drift desire for proximity, and _that_ would open up a can of worms Newt was far from interested in examining.

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_Two_

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It was a few days later when the proverbial worms went spilling out onto the metaphorical floor, and in the supposed professionalism and comfort of Newt’s office no less. The professionalism was maintained not entirely against his preferences, but also not without an email from the head of the department after Newt had tried putting up some slightly less than tasteful inspirational cat posters. He still maintained the opinion that some battles were easy to lose, but not worth it. Rest in the garbage can, “giant cat breaking through a suspiciously Wall of Life-esque structure with the caption ‘let nothing stand in your way!’’ poster. May your memory be a blessing.

Newt passed his tupperware container of grapes over to Hermann, who had commandeered his chair while Newt sat on the edge of the desk, facing him. Every few movements or so, their legs touched at a different angle. “What if I heated these up in the microwave?” he wondered aloud. “D’you think they’d explode?”

“No, Newton,” Hermann said automatically, and Newt frowned.

“No they wouldn’t explode, or no you won’t let me?”

Hermann shot him a lidded look. “The latter. Obviously.” Newt rolled his eyes.

“You’re no fun. First marshmallowsー”

“Disastrous.”

“Then lemonsー”

“We had to buy an entirely new microwave, Newton.”

“What do you have against heating up random shit in the microwave? I did that all the time as a kid!” Newt said, throwing his hands up and flinging some of the spaghetti sauce on his fork in Hermann’s direction. Hermann dodged and scowled.

“Because your uncle was a mechanic, and all the ones you used were essentially scrap metal.” He sniffed. “I code machines, Newton, not transform them from smoking heaps of melted chemicals into functioning kitchenware. There’s a junkyard in Everett if you’re so eager to blow yourself up.”

Newt stuck out his tongue and prepared to retort, but stopped as an idea quickly diverted his attention. “Hey, that’s it! Jaeger code!”

Hermann’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Pardon?”

“Your original code, dude, for Brawler Yukon!” Newt said, snapping his fingers in delight. “That’s what you should get for your tattoo! Well,” he amended, “the first line of it, anyway. You did say you wanted to be discreet.”

The furrow deepened. “Hm. I _am_ very proud of my work, but…” he pressed his lips together. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “What with my father having had a hand in it.”

Newt froze, then winced. “Shit, I forgot. I mean, he didn’t even _do_ anything, but yeah, I can see that.” He nudged Hermann’s open knee with his shin. “That’s okay; we’ll keep looking. There’s gotta be something that’s just right.”

Hermann was looking at him when he spoke, gaze focused yet oddly unreadable. “Thank you, Newton,” he said quietly in a way that made Newt’s heart race for no reason. It must have been a random burst of anxiety, he reasoned, and thus held out his hand without thinking. Hermann took it without missing a beat.

“No problem,” said Newt, reaching for his water bottle and taking a swig. His throat was very dry all of a sudden.

Hermann opened his mouth, then closed it, and Newt was about to ask if anything was wrong when a knock at the door startled them both. Some water sloshed out onto Newt’s desk, and he swore, but hopped off the edge to answer it.

The student outside smiled when he opened the door; Claire, he remembered, a senior in one of his higher level classes. “Uh, hey,” he said, glancing back to see Hermann mouth “Who is that?”. “Can I help you?”

“Hey Dr.ーuhーNewt,” she said, then noticed the fork still in his hand. “Oh, crap, are you eating? I can come back later.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Newt said, shaking his head. “You’re here for your rec letter, right?” She nodded, and he opened the door wider to let her in. “I’ve got it here; c’mon in, I’ll be just a second.”

She walked inside as he went over to rifle through the filing cabinet next to the window, giving Hermann a polite wave. “Hi Dr. Gottlieb. I didn’t know you and Newt had lunch together.”

Hermann shot Newt a pointed look at the use of his first name by a student, but nodded. “Ah, yes. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

Newt slammed the first drawer shut and opened another one. “Yeah, except now we have, like, edible food items, and coffee that would pass a quality control test, and Hermann can’t be mean to me ‘cause Professor Gruber is next door.” He found the paper he was looking for, held it up, and grinned. “So really, it’s a win-win scenario for me, myself, and I.”

“That’s three people,” Hermann said dryly. Claire giggled.

“I dunno about the coffee bit. The place back in my hometown tastes better, but maybe I’m just a snob.”

Newt handed her the paper and shook his head. “Nah. Always go local; that’s not snobbery, that’s just common sense. And good luck on the application, dude. You’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

He gave her a thumbs up, and she gave him a nervous-looking one back. “Oof. Thanks. Here’s hoping.”

Newt followed her to the door, sticking his head out as he closed it just enough to fit through. “No problem. And let me know if you need help picking work examples; I applied to programs enough times to get a system down.” He winked. “Biologists go ape for horseshoe crabs.”

Claire nodded, then glanced back through the crack in the door to where Hermann was sitting. “Yeah. Um, sorry if this is, like, personal or something, but are you and Dr. Gottlieb partners?”

Newt frowned. “Oh, no, you’re fine. Yeah, ever since 2020. That’s when we started sharing a lab, obviously.”

She appeared to consider this for a moment, then her eyes widened. “Oh, noーuh,” she said, blushing slightly, “no, I mean like in the aforementioned personal sense.”

Newt blinked. “I’m not following.”

“Like dating,” she said, expression that of someone looking far, far upwards from the bottom of a hole they had dug themselves into. Newt felt his own face go scarlet.

“Whーuh, noーumーno, no we’re not,” he stammered, desperately hoping Hermann couldn’t hear them. “No, God, uhーwhatーwhat gave you that idea? Out of, y’know, curiosity,” he said quickly.

“I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” she said, holding up both hands defensively, one gripping the paper tightly. “I just looked in your window when I knocked, and you were holding hands, so I just kindaー sorry, sorry, I’m just gonna, uh. Thank you!”

Claire gave him a jerky, half-wave and hurried away, leaving Newt to scrub a hand over his face and groan quietly. “Motherfuck,” he muttered to himself, wondering how many other people had made the same assumption. Did everyone in his department think he and Hermann were dating? _Both_ their departments? How deep did this thing run?

He shut the door gently and turned to plaster what he hoped was a normal-looking smile on his face. “Yay grad school!” he said to Hermann’s questioning look. “Always a delight. Always an adventure. The grapes debate, though; I think we should reconsider that.”

As Hermann launched into what was hopefully (and probably) a long, thorough explanation of why, precisely, Newt was not allowed to microwave whatever he wanted, Newt took this opportunity to question every waking moment of the last year of his life. What was it about him and Hermann that made people think they would be together? Was it how well they knew each other? Because that was just the result of first being stuck in a lab with the same person for years on end, and then Drifting with him. Maybe they assumed from all the physical contact? But that was just ghost Drift! It was perfectly natural for pilots to have person-centered touch starvation after Drifting together, and theirs just hadn't faded because… because… Well, because the Hivemind had amplified it and made it last longer, obviously! Everything had a perfectly logical explanation, and clearly only Newt and Hermann could see it.

And yes, admittedly, they did spend nearly all of their free time outside of work and class together, and live in the same apartment, and sleep together ( _platonically and out of necessity_ ), and have approximately two billion inside jokes and references and arguments that could be resumed at a moment’s notice, and Newt had a reminder for both his medication and Hermann’s, and Hermann stole Newt’s sleep shirts about seventy percent of the time because they were more comfortable, and that did things to Newt that required fifteen minute longer showers than usual, but really, what actual evidence was there?

Newt was a scientist. He was aware of the Central Limit Theorem, and the graph of him having feelings for Hermann had suddenly become a fucking bell curve.

Oh, he was _unequivocally_ fucked.

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_Three_

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The sizzling of rice and vegetables cracked like a box full of firework snappers, filling the kitchen with a sharp, savory smell. Newt poked a spatula at the eggs cooking in the center of the pile, absentmindedly shifting from one foot to the other in time to the music playing from his speakers. “Hermann,” he called without looking away from the pan, “c’mere, I need your eyes.”

From where he was setting out the wine glasses on the coffee table, Hermann snorted. “If I had a pound for every time you’d asked that, I’d be bankrupt,” he said, but set the second glass down and walked over. “What is it?”

“Incorrect, and look at the eggs.” Newt gestured with the spatula. “They need to still be soft, but d’you think they’re cooked enough to mix yet?”

Hermann scrutinized the faintly yellow mash surrounded by the rest of the food. “Hm. Yes, I think so. Careful not to let any out of the pan.”

Newt bumped his side with his own. “Yeah yeah, I know. I’m on cleanup duty, anyway.”

Hermann frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous Newton; you’re cooking so I’m tidying up. It’s only fair.”

“No, dude, it’s cool,” he said absentmindedly, beginning to mix the eggs and fold them into the rice. “I got it.”

“Mind the sides,” Hermann said, eyeing the rice about to spill from one side of the pan, “and no. I’ll clean, and we can share the dishes.”

Newt smirked, but acquiesced. “Fine. I’ll wash, you dry. Don’t want to damage those delicate hands of yours.”

“I grew up on a farm, Newton,” Hermann retorted, reaching up to open the cabinet and grab two plates. Almost his entire side brushed up against Newt as he did, and for the first time Newt found himself hyper aware of the warmth of Hermann’s skin just underneath his button up. He stifled an involuntary shiver. Jesus. This was worse than he’d thought.

“Whーuhーwhere did you move the scallions?” he asked, wincing at the slight hitch in his voice. Hermann didn’t seem to notice, and simply nodded at the bowl he’d placed on the side of the stove. They reached for it at the same time, fingers meeting in the middle so each tip pressed against the other. Newt’s eyes widened, and he jerked his hand back as if burned. “Oh, shitーsorry.”

Hermann gave him an odd look, but just said, “It’s alright,” and shook the small bowl to evenly sprinkle the scallions into the pan. The tendons in his wrist flexed as he did, and Newt couldn’t look away from the way they moved just under his skin. He wondered what it would feel like to run his finger down the dip between his _palmaris longus_ and _flexor carpi radialis_ tendons. He wondered if the skin that covered them was as soft as it looked.

“Jesus,” he muttered again to himself, then, “Uh, thanks. Oh, hey!” he said, quickly realizing he possessed a change of subject, “Uh I had another idea for you.”

Hermann took a sniff of the fried rice as Newt stirred in the scallions and smiled. “That smells wonderful. For the, er, tattoo?”

Newt nodded. “Yeah. So, what if, as like a really small circle thing, you got a starmap of what the sky looked like on V-Day? We could look it up, and I know astronomy is something you’re really into, so that could be cool _and_ meaningful?”

Before he could continue with something stupid, like, “I know I’ll never forget how you saved my life, and I realized you didn’t hate me and maybe also that I’m in love with you,” Newt grabbed the bottle of soy sauce and began shaking it into a small bowl of sesame oil. “Just an idea,” he said instead.

Hermann opened the silverware drawer and passed Newt a fork without speaking, clearly turning the idea over in his mind. Newt was careful to grab the opposite end, and raised his eyebrows at Hermann’s expression. “So?”

“I like it,” Hermann mused, and Newt’s heart leapt, “but I don’t think it’s something I’ll need any help remembering.” He glanced at Newt, then back down at the pan. Newt was grateful for the opportunity to hide his frown.

“Oh,” he said, disappointment churning in his gut, “no, that’s cool. I guess you’re right.” He wondered if Hermann was regretting asking for his help at this point. Everything he suggested seemed to have some fatal flaw. 

He swished the fork around in the sauce mixture, not noticing Hermann reaching out to put a hand on his arm until he nearly jumped at the contact. Forcing himself to school his expression into an unaffected one, he looked up. Hermann was smiling at him softly, and Newt’s chest went panicked and fuzzy at the same time. 

“Thank you,” he said, “for dinner tonight. I do, wellー” he glanced away for a moment, clearing his throat, then continued, “I appreciate yーwhat you do, Newton. I hope you know that.”

Newt nodded dumbly, his entire attention focused on the place where Hermann’s hand touched his own sauce and oil-splattered skin. “Yeah,” he said in a cracked voice, “of course, man. You know I love cooking andー” Newt froze, stopping himself just in time from saying the next word, and quickly amended, “ーand having someone actually enjoy it.” He forced himself to add what he hoped was a casual laugh. “Y’know. Whole point of it all.”

Hermann held his gaze for another long moment, then pressed his lips together and let them slide back into place. “Exactly.” He let go of Newt’s arm and picked up the plates, taking them over to the living room while Newt stared fiercely down at the rice and tried to will his heartbeat back to normal. He no longer swayed in time to the music; his knees felt weak. 

_Get a grip_ , he tried to tell himself, but his mind folded that one word over on repeat, as if the volume of it in his brain could reach Hermann’s own. _You_ he thought again and again and again, _you, you, you_.

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_Four_

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“Time check,” grumbled Newt under his breath, and Hermann raised his wrist to check his very nice, very rarely worn watch.

“Half an hour before it’s acceptable to leave,” he said, and they both sighed in annoyance at the same time.

“Motherfuck,” said Newt. “I take it all back. Everything I said about wanting to be a rockstar, everything I said about wanting to be appreciated, all of it. I want to go home, and eat ice cream, and take these stupid pants off. Like a real adult.”

Hermann smirked into his champagne glass, which was currently filled with sparkling water, as he and Newt both knew that the real drinking began _after_ fancy thank-you-War-heros gala number two hundred seventy seven. They had bought a bottle of stupid nice bourbon just for how fancy it made the act of complaining feel.

“Here’s a thought,” Newt said, scanning the crowd of well-dressed government people for anyone he could wittily make fun of (and get Hermann to smile; the big, ugly one that Newt knew only he saw, and thus wanted to see every five seconds), “what if I just showed up to one of these in a dress. Like, a fancy dress; within the dress code and everything, but still a dress. People would go fucking insane. It would be hilarious.”

“Is that even something you would _want_ to do?” Hermann asked, raising an eyebrow. Newt shrugged.

“I dunno, depends on the day. But lemme be frank: I would come at dysphoria with a fucking rocket launcher if it made these things even the _tiniest_ bit more interesting. Like, that’s how bored I am. And,” he added as an afterthought, “Mako and I could be twinsies.”

Hermann sighed again, and Newt knew it was because _he_ knew that Mako would be one hundred percent on board. “Perhaps if we want to get put on the blacklist,” he said. “Which may come very soon, at this point.”

Newt snorted, then winced as the motion made the tight collar pinch his throat even more. “Man, at least I wouldn’t have to wear these stupid suits. Even the bootlicker gear would be fine; at least those have comfort hacks, but noooo, we all have to look likeーlike asshole bankers or something.” He tugged at the starched fabric. “I wish I could say I don’t remember it being this tight, but nope. Hell is nothing if not fucking consistent.”

Hermann cleared his throat loudly, but Newt caught him glancing down at his upper arms. “Well. You look very, er… nice. If that’s any consolation.”

Newt didn’t know _what_ to make of that. He wondered if he should compliment Hermann back, and tried to think of how to platonically tell someone their suit made their ass look good enough to be contraband. “Thanks,” he said instead in a strangled voice, moving his fingers down to fiddle with the knot of his tie. Hermann made a noise of dismay.

“Newton, no, no, you’re already getting it crooked,” he said, and reached over to bat Newt’s hands away. Newt stood frozen as Hermann pulled the knot a few millimeters back into place, fingers lingering over the center before running down the length of the cloth until it disappeared into Newt’s waistcoat. Newt’s mouth felt drier than an oven full of sand. He was certain the entire ballroom could hear his heartbeat.

He chanced a look up from the long, elegant fingers above his sternum, which was a mistake. Hermann was looking down at him with a focus usually reserved for his numbers, eyes darting back and forth to ensure everything was perfect. When he decided it was, his gaze stopped where it met Newt’s, and Newt could feel the impression of every pad of Hermann’s fingers on his chest, like five tiny lead weights.

“Uhー” he began, not really having a plan of what to say after that, before he was either saved or assured of a bad mood (depending on how you looked at it) by the sound of a throat clearing. Both of their heads whipped to the side in unison, and Hermann snatched his hand away and stepped back when he saw his father looking (as per usual) disdainfully at them.

“Hermann,” said Lars, starting a ticking clock in Newt’s mind as to how soon he was about to get punched, “how… probable, seeing you here.”

“Father,” Hermann acknowledged in a tone that put it up for debate who was going to be punching the man in question (Newt’s heart began to beat even faster for a very bad, bad, wrong reason). “I’m afraid I can’t say the same. As, you know,” he added with the tiniest air of snideness, “you withdrew your support for the Jaeger program long before V-Day. I assume you are here as someone’s guest, then?”

Lars’ upper lip curled slightly. “Fortunately, there are a good number of people willing to overlook a substandard execution of only the best intentions, and instead give me their thanks for my years of work and support.”

“What support,” Newt said flatly, not even a question. Lars turned his gaze on him, eyes narrowing.

“Dr. Geiszlerー”

“Newt, please,” Newt interrupted, smiling in what bystanders could mark as politeness, but was clearly smug. Lars’ jaw tightened.

“Dr. Gesizler,” he repeated. “The other half of the duo my son has somehow become a part of. How delightful.”

“Oh, _I’d_ say so,” said Newt, just barely keeping his grin from advancing to shit-eating. “Hermann and I did Drift, y’know. The whole world-saving bit. So I guess you could actually call us partners, instead. Just for accuracy’s sake.”

Lars’ glower made it clear he would rather open a new Breach and swan dive inside than do such a thing. “Of course,” he sneered. “There was never a doubt in my mind that Hermann could not possibly accomplish anything of value himself, and thus has to rely on others to pick up the considerable slack.”

The timer screeched like a fire alarm, and Newt started to move forward before being held back by the Drift equivalent of a hand on his shoulder. He settled for snapping, “Oh, so Hermann’s predictive Kaiju attack equation means fucking _nothing_ now? Or his map of the Breach? Or literally all the other ways he worked his _ass_ off to keep shitheads like you alive? Just because it didn’t fit into your little ‘child prodigy showoff scenario’ and didn’t make you look a billion times better than you actually _are_ ; now you just want to brush it off? _Fuck_ you buddy; Hermann’s done more for the entire planet in twelve years than you ever have or will, so go stick that in your corpocratic exhaust pipe and smoke it.”

Lars was nearing a shade of white with rage at this point, and Newt was gathering breath for another go when he turned to Hermann, and said dangerously quietly, “ _Holen Sie ihrem kleinen Freund eine bessere Leine, oder jemand wird ihn an seine Stelle setzen_.”

Hermann set his mouth in a thin, tense line. “ _Sie werden in Ihre aufgenommen, wenn Sie uns nicht alleine lassen._.”

He maintained a sharp, steady glare as Lars adjusted his jacket and turned briskly, disappearing back into the crowd of people. Newt swallowed down the rest of his simmering anger, choosing not to focus on the specifics of Lars’ words. Instead, he said darkly, “You should get a tattoo of your equation just so nobody, especially _him_ , can forget it.”

Hermann’s cheeks darkened, and he ducked his head slightly. “Whatever I get, the point won’t be to just show it to everyone who insults my work. I don’t need his approval anymore. He made an idiotic gamble, lost as predicted, and now he’s just trying to lick his wounds in the least respectable way possible.” He snorted. “Honestly. Don’t even listen to the man.”

Unfortunately, however, Newt was unable to do anything but. Yet another instance of people assuming about him and Hermann. It was kind of getting ridiculous. He glanced up at Hermann, who was running a nervous hand over his gelled-back hair in lieu of being able to run one through it. Had he been affected by Lars’ words as well? Were they, in a twist of fate literally no one could have seen coming… right?

Newt, as had been mentioned before, was a scientist. He had a theory. There had to be a way, he surmised, to test it. Thinking back over their conversation, one bright, specific detail of his and Hermann’s relationshipーwhatever he was able, and wanted to be able, to call itーstood out in particular. _Bingo_ , he thought.

It all came back to the Drift.

┍━━━━━━━☟━━━━━━━┑

_Five_

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The warm, heavy evening air hit Newt like a wave breaking upshore as he slid open the glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. Hermann was already outside, sitting in his wicker chair and holding a cup of tea that was still steaming. Newt gripped the handle of his own with a few fingers as he slid the door shut with the others, walking over to his own chair and handing Hermann a book.

“Here,” he said, sitting down. Hermann looked at the book in surprise. “You left it inside,” he clarified, “and wanted to read it, but didn’t want to get up and go find it. It was on the couch.”

Hermann stared at the book for a moment longer, then nodded. “Thank you,” he said, but didn’t move to open it. Instead, he returned to looking out over the city streets below them; the patrons of the cafe sitting outside eating dinner, a couple taking a picture over by some late-spring flowers, the cars moving at a pace on the street that would be illegal in any other state. Newt followed his gaze around, and let out a little sigh of contentment. He moved his bare feet back and forth against the balcony’s concrete floor, enjoying the rough feel of it on his soles and breathing in a deep whiff of the blooming dogwood trees.

“This is nice,” he said aloud, and Hermann made a noise of agreement. Newt pushed lightly against his calf with his foot. “Uh, hey.” Hermann turned to look at him, and Newt swallowed. “Y’know I’m really glad I get to be here with you, right?”

Hermann’s eyes widened slightly, and Newt noticed his hand tighten slightly on his mug. “Iーyes,” he replied, some unfamiliar note in his voice that Newt couldn’t name. “Yes, I feel the same.”

Newt shifted in his seat, looking back out at the skyline in the hopes of making this easier. “I don’t know if I ever really thanked you. Did I? For like, the whole saving my life twice thing?”

He heard a small noise from Hermann, but didn’t dare look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Newton,” Hermann said tautly. “You don’t need to thank me for anything. Anyone would have done the same.”

Newt couldn’t help but frown. “Noーno, but likeーmaybe anyone would’ve saved me the first time, when I did it by myself. It was pretty easy to assume that if I wasn’t brain-dead or body-dead I would have some valuable information. But when we Drifted together…” he trailed off. “I dunno. You went in my head, man. Not just mine, but a fucking _Kaiju_. That’s pretty brave if you ask me.”

“Brave,” Hermann repeated tonelessly, and Newt had no idea what _that_ meant.

“Yeah, of course,” he tried. “You’re like the bravest person I know. And, y’know,” he shuffled his feet in towards each other, “I think about V-Day a lot, but that’s always what I remember. The Drift. And the PONS, obviously. Maybe that might be a cool design, y’know?

Newt felt a strange, foreign tightness in the back of his throat. “I don’t know,” Hermann said in a low voice. “And I try not to think about it too much. We have, as you yourself have said, a future now, and I am far more interested in the potential of that than reliving a time that is now past.” Newt finally turned to look at him, and found Hermann staring at him with a gaze that was almost pleading. “Don’t you?”

A sharp, twisting thing tightened in Newt’s chest. “Sure,” he said, “but we can’t just pretend that nothing happened betweenーthat nothing happened, Hermann. We can’t just decide there’s nothing to talk about.”

“There is _plenty_ to talk about,” Hermann said, his voice rising, “ _now_. I don’t understand why you continue to focus on the War when it is _over_ , Newton. We won. It’s finished. And there are things we can _do_ now thatー” He cut himself off, sucking in a breath. “There is a chance for a life, Newton, and I am tryingー” He stopped again. “I am trying to show you what it could be.”

Newt’s stomach crumpled in on itself in a sick, aching feeling that made it difficult to breathe. “So nothing, then,” he snapped. “You don’t wanna think about any of it, because it just meant nothing to you.”

“I am trying to correct the mistakes I made a long time ago,” Hermann said quietly, looking away. “I am trying, Newton. And I’m sorry if that’s not what you want.”

Newt’s eyes went hot and prickly at the realization, and mortification burned so harshly that his face felt like it was on fire. _God_. Hermann had known this entire time, and had been trying to let him down easy. _That’s_ why he had always rejected Newt’s ideas. And Newt had kept suggesting and trying and making a bigger and bigger fool of himself, stumbling around like some lovesick puppy while turning their simple ghost Drift into something it wasn’t, and never had been. Hermann was probably praying for it to go away so he could leave; make some new, better, freer life away from Newt and all ghosts of hope he just couldn’t let go of. He wondered if he was going to be sick from the shame of it.

Newt stood abruptly, moving so quickly that most of his tea sloshed out of its mug and onto the floor. He didn’t care. “Yeah,” he said, throat tight, struggling to keep his voice steady, “ _obviously_ you can see that. Thanks, though. Of all the times you thought I was pathetic, I never expected _this_ to be the one you where you were nice.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, yanking open the door and storming inside before he could risk seeing the awful, pitying expression on Hermann’s face. It slid shut behind him with a deep _smack!_ , and Newt made it all the way to the bathroom before slamming his mug down on the counter, sinking to the cool tile, and biting into his fist with an ugly, wet sob.

┍━━━━━━━☟━━━━━━━┑

_\+ One_

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Newt didn’t come out of the bathroom for a long time, allowing himself the luxury of dissolving into a puddle of white numbness as he pressed his hot, damp cheek to the floor. There wasn’t a knock, or footsteps outside from the bedroom, or even the faint sound of the balcony door opening. Hermann, it seemed, wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Newt hated how much he didn’t want that to be true.

The desire to be comforted, for something as simple as a hand running over his hair and down his face, brushing away the salty residue of tears and helping him up, or even just sitting quietly on the closed lid of the toilet while Newt put himself back together in the presence of someone who knew what that looked like, felt like the most disgusting thing he could want, but he wanted it anyway. A hum under his skin seemed to press outward, reaching for contact from Hermann’s own. It had gone past a need, now; Newt loved him so deeply, no matter how hard he wished it wasn’t true, that he longed for the instant rush of safety that those warm, dry hands would bring.

It wasn’t about psychology, or biology, or any of that; it never was. Newt loved Hermann. He wanted him close, and in his arms, and there like a reason to pull himself out of his hurt. So maybe it was just human nature, after all.

The instinct to lay there for hours, and even fall asleep on the hard tile if he had to, was strong, but Newt knew that wouldn’t amount to anything. Hermann wasn’t going to come in and take care of him; it wasn’t his job, nor his inclination. If he wanted to feel like a person again, Newt would, as per usual, have to do it himself.

He let out a long, heavy sigh and pushed himself up off the floor, scrubbing a hand over his face. After lying down for so long, the rush of blood to his head made him dizzy, and Newt slowly got to his feet and stripped off his wrinkled, snot-stained clothes and stepped into the shower. He turned the water on scalding hot, letting it run over his scalp for so long he could barely feel the drops falling on him over the relentless sting.

He washed his face twice; once before everything else, to remove the crusted tears and snot and blotchy patches where his skin had reddened with anguish, and then again when he was clean to feel like he was bringing the whole thing full circle. Newt turned off the water and let himself stand there, dripping and numb and feeling like his tongue had swelled to the size of a grapefruit, for five miserable, luxurious seconds before stepping out and toweling himself off. He opened the cabinets and used some of his nice, pumpkin-and-vanilla-and-early-2000’s-mall smelling lotion, because it seemed like the kind of thing to do in this situation, then half-heartedly brushed his teeth, pulled just his sweatpants back on, and wrapped the towel around himself.

It was after opening the door and stepping out into the dark bedroom, lit only by the lamp on Hermann’s side, that Newt realized he had forgotten his skull ring and turned back to get it. Before he could move, however, Hermann shifted from where he was sitting, book splayed on his knees.

“Newton, waitー” he said haltingly, and Newt froze. He knew he should say something like, “I’m sorry,” or “I’ll take the couch,” or something productive beginning with “I feel,” but he had neither the energy nor the words. Instead he turned, pulling the towel tighter around him, and tried to look like someone who wasn’t in danger of bursting into tears again.

“Yeah?” he said hoarsely, throat scratchy from crying. Hermann clearly noticed, and his brow furrowed.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Newt let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Yeah, Hermann, no, I’m fine. You were gonna say something. What’s up.”

The shape of Hermann’s Adam's apple moved visibly as he swallowed hard. “I wanted toー” he began, “I wanted to talk. About what happened. I worry that we both letーthat we both let our emotions get the better of us, and some things that need to be clarifiedー” he looked down at his book, “weren’t.”

Newt pushed down a sharp jolt of pain in his chest, despite the lack of feeling anywhere else. So this was it, then. Fine. Quick andーnot painless, but efficient. “Okay,” he said, not moving from where he stood. “Then say what you want to say, man.”

Hermann worked his jaw, gaze darting uncomfortably about the room. Newt felt sick. Clearly, both of them didn’t want to be having this conversation.

His gaze breezed over Newt, then stopped. He frowned and peered closer, and Newt glanced down at himself to see what he was looking at. “What’s that on your hand?” Hermann asked.

Newt raised one, but he shook his head. “No, the other.” He switched hands, and with a quick once over for stains or injuries, realized with a start what Hermann was looking at. His stomach dropped.

“Oh, uh, it’s nothing,” said Newt, jerking his hand down and wishing desperately to return to the bathroom for his ring. “Just an old tattoo.”

Hermann’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you had any on your hands. Is itーis it also Kaiju?”

Newt dug his toes into the carpet, staring determinedly down at them. “Uh, no. No, I gave it to myself back in college. Stick n’ poke.”

He hoped that would be the end of it, but Hermann clearly saw the chance for a change of topic and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Could I see it? If that’s alright?”

Newt glanced upwards, wondering what kind of sick cosmic joke this all was. “Fine,” he said, and walked over, adjusting his towel so he could hold it with one hand. He held out the other one, unable to stop from shivering as Hermann gently took his fingers and ran his own over the ink. “Twelve, ten, thirteen,” he read aloud, skipping the small dots in between each number. The adding of two plus two visibly spread over his face, and he realized aloud, “The day Iー”

“Postmarked that first letter, yeah,” Newt finished, as if Hermann saying the whole thing himself would have made the entire situation infinitely worse. “Iーlike I said, it was college, and I was a stupid kid who didn’t knowーyeah…” he trailed off lamely, waiting for the second equation to click in Hermann’s head; the most damning evidence of all to fall right into place.

What he did not expect, and thus caused his head to jerk up in surprise at the words, was for Hermann to say, “That’s it.”

Newt blinked, confused. “What is?”

Hermann was still staring at the numbers, absentmindedly tracing his fingers over them. Newt’s skin was on fire. “This. The date. And you.” He finally looked up at Newt, nervous energy nearly pouring off of him in waves, but his expression was one of firm conviction. “That’s what I want.”

Newt almost jerked his hand back in surprise. “YーYou want _me_ to give you a tattoo?” he stammered, choosing to interpret the words out of fear of being horribly, painfully wrong. Hermann nodded.

“Yes. Just like yours, butーbut your date. From your first letter.” He was visibly shaking now, and Newt suddenly realized that in his shock he had dropped his grip on the towel. Hermann didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t wantーNewton, I asked you for help with this not because I want something from the past; those things don’t matter to me. I can look in any newspaper or television or even just walk down the street, and remember the War and everything we fought to win it. I’ll never be able to forget.” He tightened his grip on Newt’s hand. “And that’s not what I want. I asked you because Iーbecause I wanted something from _you_. Something that was only special to the two of us, and no one else would have or understand, and I thought thatーthat I could make _you_ understand if I chose the right one.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked down at the ink. “The most important moment in my life was not when the Kaiju first attacked, or when we beat them, or any of my equations or numbers or theories. It was when _you_ came into my life. I would not be the person I am today; alive or happy or otherwise, if not for you. And I want to carry that with me for as long as my body will last.”

Newt felt the unsaid words burn into his mind: _And longer. If I could, I would carve your name into my bones, and the atoms among them._

He couldn’t help it; without thinking, Newt raised the hand Hermann was holding up to his mouth, turned it so Hermann’s fingers were facing him, and brushed his lips against his knuckles. Hermann stilled so completely he appeared as if he’d stopped breathing.

“Okay,” murmured Newt against his skin, heart nearly beating out of his ribs. “Same place?”

Hermann shook his head faintly. “No,” he whispered. “You know.”

Newt did, and moved his other hand to let it rest flat on Hermann’s chest, just above his heart. “I do.” The skin was warm through his shirt, and Newt could feel the slow, steady beat pulse against his palm. “Are you sure?”

Hermann didn’t reply; in one smooth, frantic motion, he grabbed Newt’s other hand, pulled him forward and down, and crushed their mouths together like mountains shaking the ground. Newt’s tactile synapses bloomed into fireworks; he didn’t see stars. He was one.

His fingers moved upwards to push into the dip of Hermann’s collarbone, tracing it forcefully as the ones Hermann was holding tangled together with his. The world stopped and died away and was reborn into his mouth, his stomach, his eyes that fluttered closed; he dissolved, stupefied at the knowledge that he could be more himself than he ever was, when being consumed by another person. His skin felt raw and new; it began at the place where Hermann ended, and he could not tell where that was. He met himself, and returned Hermann home.

It was their own Jaeger, he thought, kissing like this. Kissing, end sentence. There came a point where all the thinking had a purpose, and then it just flowed into instinct and winding yourself around another brain to create something beautiful and massive. All the small ways of loving building upon each other to become what others saw, but only _they_ knew what it was made of. A thousand tiny pieces built by their hands.

“I think your brain likes me,” Newt mumbled, finally pulling away to find oxygen in a room that suddenly felt too small. He felt Hermann’s lips against his own curve up in a smile.

“It’s not the only part,” he said, and dragged his fingers down to rub his thumb against the inside of Newt’s wrist. Newt let out a wheeze at how much it suddenly all was.

“God,” he breathed, “I love you. I fucking _love_ you, Hermann.” His pulse beat in a count of threes, and he knew Hermann could feel it.

Hermann pulled him closer, and Newt stepped out of the towel pooled around his feet to climb into bed beside him, moving so he was pressed against as much of him as possible. Hermann’s hands found his shoulders and the small of his back, and he ran them back and forth over the warm skin and muscles, tracing the outlines with his fingertips. Newt nudged his head into the crook of Hermann’s neck.

A finger, finding a new spot on a different dimly illuminated freckle each time, tapped out a rhythm to their heartbeats, one after the other, filling in the empty space between each pump of blood in their bodies, passing warmth from one expanse of skin to the next; back and forth between them like a circle spinning into the night and through to the flushed, dawning light of morning, and a thousand others like it.


End file.
